


Kindred Spirits

by EvilEkat



Category: Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilEkat/pseuds/EvilEkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Bad choices often lead to even worse outcomes. Somewhat inevitably, Stanley makes a bad choice the spring after his brother's disappearance. A story about ridiculous prices, orange juice, and the money that could have been saved if Stanley had just forked over the cash and bought new batteries for his flashlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said forever ago that I had a new story in mind, involving the shape-shifter? Actually it was like three days ago... But never mind that. It's been in my head forever, and that's what counts! I only plan for it to be around ten chapters, but we all know that I'm going to end up taking things too far and it will be like ten million instead.
> 
> So here we have this AU. The uh... I'm still working on a name. Any suggestions (Beyond the title, because that's the one everyone does.) are very welcome! This likely won't have frequent updates, seeing as Versability is on-going and the second half of Abomination is in the writing process right now. However, once Versability finishes, things will begin to speed up. As per usual, the first chapter is the shortest one, and everything else will pass 3,000 words. 
> 
> Read, review, and enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.

Maybe wandering in an unfamiliar forest in the middle of the night was a bad idea. Maybe refusing to buy spare batteries for the flashlight was also a bad idea. But while those ideas were both bad, they were no better than going on a hopeless trip to find a stupid book so he could find a long-lost brother. So, Stanley couldn't be mad at himself for getting lost in the dark. The way he saw it right now, he had two options: spend the night getting eaten alive by bugs and whatever crazy things lived in the forest, or continue searching for a way out until he was exhausted. He had brought food and a gun along with him in a backpack so he wouldn't be starving to death soon. But that didn't mean he wanted to spend any more time in the forest than necessary.

_"Grrr..."_

Stanley decided that he would search for an exit now, before he ran into some real problems. It was only the start of spring, so the forest was not very dense. Buds were beginning to bloom on the trees, and all the snow was starting to melt. It was still very cold at night. Stanley could see his breath, puffing out in little white clouds. He was grateful for his jacket, which at least sheltered him a little from the chill. The ground was slick and mushy underfoot, from all the rain the small town had been experiencing. More than once he had wound up stepping in a large, icy-cold mud puddle, because they were almost impossible to see in the dark of the night.

He only had the moon and the stars to light his way. And that sort of sentimental stuff was for losers. He was not going to follow any star home unless it gave him a map or a new flashlight. Luckily in some of the shadier areas, mainly where evergreens were growing, there was still snow on packed, dry ground. The pine trees shielded most of the elements with their branches, and he chose to stick near them to avoid the water.

Eventually, Stanley came to a clearing in the forest. He sighed, and sat down on a recently fallen tree. Everything looked the same in the woods. He definitely had no idea where he was going at this point. The search in the woods had started out fairly organized. He had looked around some of the places Stanford said he had investigated in the journal, but they all turned up nothing...

There was another growl, closer this time. It was impossible to see what was following him in the darkness, but he was not too interested in finding out either. Stanley got to his feet. He needed to start walking before that thing decided to catch up with him. The next snarl was too close for comfort. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Stanley ran to the nearest tree and flung down his backpack. He scaled it, gripping on to the sides for dear life.

The tree bark was very slick. He could not get a good hold on it, and Stanley felt himself starting to slide back down to the ground. He refused to go out like this. Clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, he reached for a limb mere inches above him. It moved, and for a moment, Stanley thought he had broken it. He closed his eyes and waited for the worst, but he did not fall. The branch was still in place, it had bent. Branches didn't bend like a lever... Stanley did not dwell on it, because he was still holding on to the tree. Beneath him, he could hear more of the animal's angry cries. He already had a fear of heights, so he did not dare look down to see what the thing stalking him was.

Just as he thought he was safe up in the tree, the ground started to rumble. He felt himself starting to slide back down again. There was a loud yelp, and he heard tree limbs snapping. By the time the shaking had stopped, Stanley had reached the bottom of the tree. The real bottom of the tree. Still shaking himself, Stanley let go of the tree, and took in his new surroundings. The bottom of the tree was in a pit. There were stairs along the inside of the hole, leading back towards the top. There was also a doorway. Stanley looked at the entrance, and then back at the stairs.

He felt hope rise within him. This had Stanford's weird science finger-prints all over it. He needed to investigate. Stanley went back up the stairs, which were in good condition, if not a little slippery from the rain. He retrieved his backpack, and looked inside. The journal and his food was all still intact. He grabbed the gun, and a box of bullets. He tucked the bullets in his jacket pocket, and hung the gun on his belt loops. After some of the things he had found in the woods, Stanley knew that it wouldn't do much, but the small sense of security was welcoming. The entrance lead away to more stairs. They spiraled downwards, deep into the ground. Stanley held on to the railing as tightly as he could, not wanting to slip and fall. While it had been dark outside, there were at least natural sources of light. Here, there was nothing, no light to provide him with any visibility.

When he reached the bottom, he entered into a wide, open space. Stanley did not try to walk any farther, not knowing what crazy things to expect. He felt around his surroundings a little, and found that his eyes adjusted the longer he stood still. He could see the wall beside him, and there was a light switch. Stanley flicked it on. The room was instantly flooded with a harsh white light. His eyes watered, and he shielded himself from the brightness. Little spots appeared on the edges of his vision. But when his eyesight finally cleared, he was not disappointed.

It was a small, rectangular room. There was a bed with a worn mattress pushed into one corner. There was a wooden crate at the foot of it, and two shelves piled with books to the wall next to the bed. To the other side, there was a shelf. Stanley walked over to it. There were boxes. Neatly packed and neatly labeled. 1999, 2012, 2016... They all went on, for years and years. There were posters on the walls. He walked up to one next to a cabinet. Written in large, bold letters were the words: _NUCLEAR FALLOUT SHELTER_

Yeesh, he had known his brother was paranoid, but this was a little excessive. The Russians weren't just going to bomb a small town in the middle of nowhere. They'd been pretty quiet this year after all... He brushed the edge of the poster with the tips of his fingers. He had really been going crazy, hadn't he? Stanley was about to turn to the cabinet labeled _weapons,_ when he felt something underneath the poster. He touched around the edges, and carefully pulled it up by the tape. Stanley set it on the bed gently. There was no point in destroying Stanford's things, and he didn't want him to get too mad if, _when_ he returned. He had already taken over his brother's life, there was no need to ruin his stuff.

Behind the poster, there was a hatch. There was a warning written on it, but Stanley ignored it. He twisted the handle. There was a hiss of air, and the door swung open. There was a short tunnel inside, with a room on the other end. Stanley propped open the hatch as wide as possible, and he fixed it in place with a chair. If it closed, he might not be able to get out. He got on his hands and knees, and crawled through the short tunnel.

At first, there appeared to be nothing of interest in the other room. The walls and floors were all made up of metal square tiles. They had strange symbols drawn on them. They looked exactly like the kind of weird thing Stanford would have written in the journal. Stanley was used to being in places he shouldn't be. Bank vaults, the back of car trunks, the psychiatric ward, and everything in-between. He had a fair idea on what not to do when walking across the floor designed by his paranoid twin: avoid the spots with something on them.

His idea worked, for he made it over to the other end without any trouble. Then, he picked the lock on the door (At least the flashlight came in handy one last time before he broke the door knob.) And entered the next part of the bunker. The lights were already on in this area. They were much dimmer however, and they flickered occasionally. Humming machinery was placed along either wall. Most of it still looked like it was active. Dials and monitors glowed eerily in the wavering light. Stanley trailed his hand across the desk as he walked deeper into the lab.

Papers were scattered everywhere. Notes, sketches, plans for the future. All written in the same, familiar writing of his brother. Stanley did not doubt who the fallout shelter belonged to now. There was an abandoned set of glassware near a set of monitors. Volumetric flasks filled with strange, viscous-looking liquids, an empty burette attached to a retort stand, all of its slimy contents titrated into an Erlenmeyer flask... Stanley picked up a petri dish and brought it to his eye, making the surroundings appear magnified, before shrinking them again. He put it back down in place, and continued his walk to the end of the hall.

It could take him weeks just to search through all of this room. There were countless shelves, filing cabinets to break in to, and who knew how many secret compartments to discover. However, he did not have weeks. He had a small supply of food, and no other resources. Also, he was still lost in the woods. Even if he found his way out, what were the odds he would find the bunker again? Stanley decided that it was best to search all of the place for anything useful. But first, he needed to get an idea on how big this place really was.

At the end of the area, there was a room, about the size of a closet, designed for decontamination. He had enough bad memories of what decontamination involved when he was in the loony bin. Stanley skipped over that, by breaking open the next door (With the help of a clipboard that had been resting on the desk.) And leaping through before he was showered. The next room looked like something out of a horror movie. Most of the lights were shattered, and the functioning ones gave off a strange iridescent blue colour. It cast the area in a sickly shade, and did little to help with visibility.

Unlike the previous rooms, this one appeared to be unfinished. Or perhaps more destroyed. Pipes were running through the area, some of them still hissing. The ground, walls, and ceiling were all dirt. Loose, chewed-through cables were crept across the floor and snaked around more machinery. Stanley could only guess what the purpose of any of the machines were. They appeared to be large cages, or perhaps tubes. A way to keep something inside. The glass front on one of them was smashed. The pieces still littered the ground, and they crunched underfoot as he walked past it.

From deep in the cavern, there was the sound of dripping water. Puddles were everywhere on the floor, and there was no way for him to avoid stepping in them. The water must have been coming from the thawing snow above. Stanley could tell he was deep underground, as there were tree roots poking out from the top of the ceiling and some of the cave walls.

How strange to think that his brother had built all of this for his nerd stuff. He already had a lab back at the house. Heck, the entire house was his lab seeing as there was research everywhere. Why would he build a second, even more secretive lab? Why were his labs always underground? Did he have something against daylight? Remembering how pale Stanford had been, Stanley realized he probably did.

As he walked deeper into the area, Stanley came face-to-face with another wall. It was filled with holes, countless tunnels that could go anywhere in the underground. How was he supposed to navigate all of them and still come out of this alive? It was impossible, he could never go through all of them with what little he had on him.

Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, and his nose started to run. His throat grew taught and began to ache he tried to stop himself from crying. Stanley realized how hopeless the entire idea of searching this place was. There were tunnels everywhere! Countless holes dug in to the walls, no doubt leading to even more labs or projects or whatever Stanford had done with all the money of his. The weight of what he had to do pressed down on him again.

Stanley found himself slumping to the floor, holding his head as he tried to keep calm. This was impossible! There was nothing he could do without those other journals! There was nothing he could do to even find them without dying in the woods first. And on top of that he had bills to pay, a tourist trap to run, and a million other responsibilities that came with assuming Stanford's identity! He could handle nearly being killed. He could handle living in his car for the past ten years. But what he couldn't handle, was the thing he did not understand in the slightest!

So caught up was he in his emotions, Stanley did not realize something had snuck up behind him until it was too late. A sharp blow landed across the back of his head. Stars sprung up and swirled in front of his vision. A shrill ringing sounded in his ears. Stanley was stunned, but he had dealt with situations like this in the past. He reached for his gun, but he saw stopped.

A pair of hands even colder than the air of the bunker grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back. When he struggled, another, dizzying blow struck him. He howled in agony as the excruciating pain blossomed in his head again. More stars popped in front of his eyes. He fought to keep them open, to avoid the coming darkness, but it was too late. He slipped in to a blissfully calm state of unawareness.


	2. Staring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wrote my exams for advanced functions and calculus and vectors. Tomorrow it'll be for general social sciences... I need to mentally recover... 
> 
> However, the next chapter of Versability should be out either later today, or tomorrow.
> 
> Read, review, and enjoy.

It was the chill, and the dampness of the ground that finally got Stanley to awaken. He was sitting in a puddle of frigid water, now soaked to the bone. A fit of shivers overcame him, and a dull, rhythmic pounding began in his head. Stanley groaned, and reached a hand to his forehead. But he was stopped before that could happen. His arms were restrained by... Something. Another anguished groan escaped his lips. It was almost like awakening with a hangover, but worse because of the cold. It seemed to seep into the very marrow of his bones, and fill his veins with ice.

One of his eyes was pushed open, and a bright light was shone in it. The pain grew worse than he could possibly imagine. With watering eyes, Stanley attempted to push away his assailant, but he was still tied up. Moving made him hurt even more. Whoever was there with him let go after a moment longer of holding his eye open.

"It's time for you to wake up."

That voice... He knew that voice. Stanley blearily opened his eyes. He saw double, and things were fuzzy at first. But a face formed in front of him. Yes, he would know Stanford's face anywhere. The surprise of seeing his brother helped wake him more. Stanley tried to rub his eyes, but his restraints were there for a reason.

His eyes fluttered shut again as he felt fatigue settle in. He was in pain and needed more sleep... This time, he was slapped. Stanley jerked awake as the pulsing pain in his head grew worse. It all just kept getting worse. Now the side of his face was starting to sting as well. It all hurt. All of him felt like it was hurting just so much.

"St- Stanford?" He managed to slur. "Wh-what are ya'..."

"Oh, so you know Stanford?" Stanford asked. "Then who does that make you? It's dark down here you know. And you look a lot like him."

No... This man wasn't Stanford, he was someone else. But he knew who his brother was. It wasn't him. A wave of despair washed over him. This was all hopeless. He would never find him. He felt more tears start to well up in his eyes. For not answering, he received another slap. On the other side of his face this time.

"Who are you?" Not-Stanford repeated. "Do you know who I am right now?"

"The author of the journals." He croaked. "My brother."

"Ah _yesss."_ Not-Stanford said. "Are younger one or the estranged one?"

"E-estranged."

Not-Stanford relaxed a little more when he heard this. The man- thing, sat down in an odd position, rather like a dog sitting on his haunches. However, he still seemed tense and alert. When he blinked, Stanley realized that his eyelids closed vertically rather than horizontally. Nope, definitely not Stanford. It must have been some other weird creature that he had encountered in his research.

"Yes, that does make sense. Twins, correct?"

"Yes."

"Where is he now?"

A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard, and felt himself starting to blink back more tears.

"G-gone."

"Dead?"

"M-maybe. I-I don't know."

The monster no longer looked as relaxed at this. Stanley instinctively flinched, expecting him to attack again.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"H-he went through this..."

"The portal." He finished, calming down again. "Ah yes, I know all about that stupid plan of his."

"T-then you k-know how to fix it! I could get him b-back!"

"Get him back? Why would I ever want that?"

"I-I have to, he's my b-brother!"

"Didn't you say you were the estranged one?"

Stanley nodded.

"Then why do you care about him so much?"

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see his brother's haunted face, him screaming for help. No one else knew where he had gone, that he had been missing to begin with. How was he supposed to sit there and do nothing? No one else could help, and he had nowhere else to go now. It was all up to him to find a way to bring him back, otherwise he would be lost forever.

"I-it's all my fault!"

"Ah yes, guilty feelings I see." The thing hummed. "Well, any friend of Stanford's is an enemy of mine. Farewell."

The Not-Stanford raised his arm to deliver one final blow. Stanley closed his eyes again, not wanting to see the face of his own brother be the one to end his life. He waited for the monster to strike, but nothing happened. There was an angry hiss. The sound was followed by a colourful chain of swear-words. Stanley dared to peek through one eye, and he saw that the monster had tripped over his backpack.

"What's even in here?" He growled, reaching for his foot. "Rocks?!"

"Food." Stanley sighed. "I was looking for Stanford's journals."

"Well you won't find them down here. He did his hardest to keep them far away from me. But I knew there were just so many different forms to take on."

"Do you have any idea where the others are?"

"The... others? You have one?"

"That's probably what you stubbed your toe on."

Stanley winced as his one and only backpack was torn in half by the monster. He poured all the contents out on to the floor, and eagerly caught the journal before it could touch the ground. The monster gleefully cackled to himself. He practically tore through the journal, eagerly looking over the contents of each page.

"Perfect! I always wanted to get my hands on these books. Stupid nerd thought he could stop me from changing forms if I didn't see other creatures... But I'll show-" The monster paused, and he sniffed the air. "Is that, orange juice?"

Stanley was not quite sure what the creature was going on about and why, but he figured that keeping him talking could help him find a way to get out of the bindings. He was tied up with electrical cords, which were easy enough to get out of if they weren't plugged in to any sort of power source. These weren't, so he started to work at wriggling his wrists until the cords began to loosen.

"I packed a carton of it." He replied.

"I haven't had any in ages. At least, not since Stanford started working with that stupid demon. I hate him even more than I hate that nerd!"

"He was working with a demon?"

"A couple-trillion-year-old nerd is more like it." The monster snorted. "And of course he forgot all about his other projects once they started working on the big one."

"So you're a project?"

"I'm a shape-shifter."

The monster proceeded to transform into a copy of himself. Stanley skeptically took this all in. Had his ears always been that big? And, he didn't have that much grey hair! Plus, he was in much better shape than the guy with a chubby stomach in front of him. This guy's imitation game was off by a mile!

"A shape-shifter?"

"Raised since infancy by that jerk."

"So, you're only like, a year old."

"Perhaps in human years." The shape-shifter scoffed. "In shape-shifter years, I'm twelve months."

Stanley rolled his eyes at this.

_"Riiight._ So do you actually have your own shape? Or are you just someone else all the time?"

He transformed into something else. A large, slimy-looking monster with pale white skin, and, glowing baby-pink eyes. He had razor-sharp teeth, and fingers that ended with claws. One of his arms was thin, and held the same gelatinous quality that the rest of his body did. The arm to the left however, was inflamed and pink in places. It appeared to be injured. He now had four legs instead of two. They were long and spindly, almost like a spiders. Yeesh. The thing was a complete horror-show. Even worse-looking than he was! But he might make for a good attraction in the Murder Hut...

"This is my true form."

"Ah. So you just hang out around here pretending to be people?"

The shape-shifter sat down in front of Stanley again.

"Well, I've never had any way to get back up to the surface, beyond digging. But I grew bored of trying to burrow my way to the top. So I turned this wretched prison-" He gestured to the trashed area. "-into my little home."

The more he listened to the guy talk, the more Stanley realized that he had a lot to say. Probably due to lack of good conversationalists underground. There were only so many piles of dirt you could talk to, and the shape-shifter seemed to have a lot to get off his chest. He was almost free from the restraints around his wrists, so if he could keep the guy talking a little longer, he would be free.

"Doesn't it get boring?"

_"Well,_ there are always plenty of creatures to defend my territory from, and finding food on my own can be a bit of a challenge, since I was usually just hand-fed. Plus I've been-"

On and on he seemed to blab. It did nothing to stop the aching in his head. Stanley managed to get one of his wrists out though. With a couple more twists, he might be free within a minute. But once he got untied, he needed to find a way to escape from the shape-shifter before he died of boredom.

"-he actually _demanded_ that I get into the tube! I mean, what kind of a _moron_ tells someone that they're going to be imprisoned and thinks they'll do what they say? So naturally I started playing mind games with him. That demon was ruining his head already and it wasn't difficult for me to-"

One wrist free. But just as he was about to loosen the other, the shape-shifter's rate of talking started to slow down. Stanley realized that he was starting to run out of things to say. He went through a list of questions to ask the monster before he could stop talking. However, it was too late.

"Well, as interesting as that was, it's time for me to rest."

The shape-shifter yawned, and he stretched his arms.

"W-wait! I wanted to ask you what you were made of! Where are your organs? How does all of that stuff work?"

"Ugh, that's a boring subject. Just thinking about it makes me feel more-" He yawned again. "-sleepy."

"T-then what about the journals? How many are there exactly?"

"Look, as much as I've enjoyed having someone to talk with, I'm-"

"You don't have to kill me yet!" He blurted.

"Oh yes, that. I forgot how much I missed talking to others, so I won't kill you. Instead you can sleep in the cage over there and we can have more conversations when I am no longer tired."

With how much his head already hurt, the thought of listening to this weirdo talk even more seemed like a horrible idea. It practically made getting killed look like the attractive option. He'd rather be chopped in half by some monster than pass out from the pain. Or from the boredom that would come out of listening to any more of his yaking.

"Aw, come on! You don't want to do that! Then you'll have to feed me and get me clothes."

"Good point. From what I have seen, humans are rather high-maintenance and require the presence of others. Something Stanford was clearly going without."

He bit back the urge to snap at the shape-shifter for insulting his brother, and instead asked;

"How about you let me go free, and we can talk some other time?"

The shape-shifter contemplated Stanley's offer.

"I want the journal."

"No can do. I need it to save Stanford."

"I just need to look at the illustrations."

"I'll let you look through it whenever you want, but I get to keep it. In return, you get my carton of orange juice."

"Deal. But there better not be any backwash in it."

"It's unopened."

"Perfect! Now let me just untie-"

Stanley showed the shape-shifter his now free wrists.

"Who would have thought..." He mumbled. "It seems that the basic survival skills went to you, while useless scientific knowledge went to your brother."

"I'll say."

The shape-shifter went through the small pile of food on the ground. He retrieved the carton of orange juice near the bottom, and tore it open with his teeth. He drank the entire thing in a single gulp. When he finished, he checked the inside for even more. Seeing that it was empty, he sighed, and tossed the orange juice to the side.

"Well that ended as quickly as it started. I don't suppose you have any more?"

"Hey, that stuff's expensive you know. Orange juice doesn't just grow on trees!"

"I was under the impression that oranges _did_ grow on trees." He said, rubbing his chin. "Unless I'm remembering incorrectly..."

"They do, it's just ah, a saying. Not the real meaning."

"Right, yes, of course. It's just, I haven't seen the outside world since I was born you know? I was moved around during the first few tests, but after a while when I started to grow more he transferred me down here with all the other-"

"I thought you were too tired to talk." Stanley interrupted.

"I'm feeling a second wind."

Stanley rolled his eyes.

"Right, well, I need to get going."

Stanley stood up, but he found himself sliding back down to his knees again. He felt the muddy ground squish between his fingers, and more freezing cold water crept up his legs. He had tried to stand too fast, and the entire world seemed to spin wildly around him. His heartbeat sped up, and the vicious hammering inside of his head started to grow stronger again. Taking in a sharp breath, he slowly calmed down, and tried to ignore the pain.

Gritting his teeth, he got back up, and stayed up this time. He wiped his hands off on the sides of his pants. They needed to be washed anyways. When he looked back at the shape-shifter, he was staring directly at him, with all those creepy pink eyes of his. There was just something so unsettling about the thing's eyes... He suppressed a shudder of disgust.

"What 'r you looking at?"

"I'm waiting for you so we can go to the surface."

"Right."

With his backpack torn to pieces, he had no real way to carry all of the food he had brought along with him. The thought of losing all that food (Thus money by extension.) Made him cringe. But he wasn't going to eat mud. He wasn't homeless anymore. He had a source of income. He didn't need to risk eating some sort of dirt-demon just because his food was ruined.

Figuring that neither one of them had plans to return, he didn't bother to try cleaning the mess up. Instead, he started limping towards the exit. The shape-shifter followed several paces behind, making Stanley feel somewhat wary. He didn't want to get attacked from the back, just because he wasn't paying attention. Thus, he occasionally looked back at the monster.

His back was beginning to ache, and walking seemed like a laborious task. He must have fallen hard when the guy first knocked him out, for his legs hurt like hell. He dragged his feet across the slippery ground, and the even more slippery tiles in the lab. The only noise was the scuffling of his shoes, and the mechanical hum of Stanford's abandoned machinery. The shape-shifter was eerily silent, and he felt the need to look back more frequently to make sure that he was still there.

They eventually reached the surface again. It was still nighttime outside, and the full moon had risen high in the sky. The first thing the shape-shifter did was sniff the air. His teeth became more prominent, and Stanley realized that he was grinning. A triumphant laugh bubbled from his throat. The journal was shoved back into his hands, as the shape-shifter rolled in the grass. He transformed into a tree, and then into a rock. He spotted a bat flying overhead and transformed again. He screeched and flew circles around Stanley's head until they were both dizzy. The shape-shifter fell back on the ground, still laughing, and clutching at his sides.

"Ha! Take that you stupid nerd!" He yelled to the sky. "I've escaped! And I've got one of your precious journals!"

Stanley decided to let the guy have his fun. He was about to turn around and leave, when he remembered that he was still lost in the dark and had no idea how he was going to get back home. He sat down on the same fallen tree again, watching as the shape-shifter went about his business. Maybe he could turn into a compass, or a map, or perhaps a flashlight. At least he wouldn't be lost in the dark. He would be lost in a reasonable amount of light.

The shape-shifter had begun to transform into halves of different things. He sprouted wings and ignited a fire on his head. He grew paws instead of hands, and then formed webbing between his fingers. He seemed rather caught up in coming up with as many morbid combinations as possible. Stanley was caught between a mixture of disgust and interest. Half animals. He could fake a few taxidermies of those. They could make great attractions! He'd buy some glue and take a quick stop at the Gravity Falls Museum of History once he had gotten home and rested up.

While the shape-shifter's delight with being able to transform into different surroundings faded, he decided to mix things up in a different way. He became a child, wearing very outdated clothing. But he was not just any child, Stanley was staring at the twelve-year-old version of himself. How could this guy know what he looked like as a kid?! There was strange, and then there was the really strange. Typically that meant leave as soon as possible before something crazy happened. However, he had nowhere to go.

Stanley didn't realize it, but he had been staring at the monster for too long. The kid did notice though, and his smile faded.

"What are _you_ looking at?"

"My childhood self apparently."

The shape-shifter looked at his arms, and chuckled.

"Yes, that does make more sense now. You were the other boy in the picture."

"Picture?"

"Of you and the nerd."

"You can stop calling him nerd." Stanley said. "That's _my_ nick-name for him."

"It's mine as well and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Wanna' be-"

Stanley stopped, as the shape-shifter turned back to his original form. He grinned triumphantly, and returned to being a child again. The kid stuck out his tongue at him, and Stanley had to resist the urge to punch the guy into next year. He was nowhere near as strong as the shape-shifter though, and knew better than to try anyways.

"At the very least could you stop looking like me?"

"Nope!"

"Fine! Do whatever! I'm going back home anyw-"

Again, he had to stop when reminded that he was still lost somewhere in the middle of the forest.

"I have to find my way home." He corrected. "Seeing as I have no idea where I am-"

The shape-shifter pointed in the direction Stanley was facing.

"A five-minute walk that way and you'll be out."

"How do you know? You've been underground since you were a baby!"

"Or don't take my suggestion." He defensively replied. "I'm sure you'll find you way out by walking deeper into the forest with no food."

The worst thing that could happen if he took the suggestion was winding up in the wrong place. Something was better than nothing, and chances were he would wind up choosing the incorrect path even without the guy's help. Deciding that it couldn't hurt, he began to walk in the direction he had been pointed. The shape-shifter tagged along, but he decided not to bother asking why. Even if he did tell the thing to scram, it would probably just turn into a rock and start following him that way.

The shape-shifter had lied. The walk was not five minutes, it was ten. Or perhaps that had something to do with the limp he had developed. A semi-blind stumble through the forest was ten minutes, but a normal journey was most likely five. But he reached the edge of his own property, just as daybreak began. Stanley almost felt as though he could kiss the lawn. It wouldn't be any more embarrassing than what the monster had done when he saw the surface.

He chose not to, mainly because of how tired he was. So slowly, Stanley dragged his feet up to the porch, where he subsequently collapsed on the couch. The shape-shifter copied him. Apparently his second wind had vanished as well. Stanley considered kicking the little brat off the couch so he had more room for his feet, but didn't. Instead, he let himself begin to doze off.

The sky was turning a bright, painted orange. The chirping of the crickets was dying down. Soon, there was even enough light to see his frozen breath. Stanley noted that the couch was a little soggy, but he did not care. His clothes were already soaked anyways, seeing as he had been sitting in a giant puddle during their little interrogation.

The sun rose higher in the sky. Golden sunbeams crept along the grass, and up to the porch, where they rested in silence. Stanley moved away as it started to shine in his eyes. The shape-shifter did not take the sun in his eyes as well. Hissing and snarling, he shielded his face from the sun with one arm, and clawed at it with the other.

"What is that searing ball of hatred?!" He growled.

"It's the sun. I guess you don't remember that."

"Of course I do! I'm just a creature of the darkness! Now tell your son to stop doing that!"

"I can't tell the sun to stop shining."

"Yes you can! He's your son!"

Stanley had to laugh at the guy's cluelessness. Apparently being stupid was not just a thing that people in town had. It applied to other creatures too. He just hopped whatever was eating their brains wasn't contagious, because he was not interested in catching the epidemic of stupidity. And perhaps, he had to laugh, just a little bit, because the guy briefly sounded so much like himself at that age.

"No, not that kind of sun. It's S-U-N. And it doesn't turn off for anyone."

_"Rrr!_ I'll show that, sun! I'll just-"

It's a million times the size of the Earth." Stanley warned, having a fair idea of what he planned to do. "And made of fire."

The shape-shifter hissed as the sun again.

"I shall take my leave into the darker parts of the forest then. I have no interest in encountering this sun again."

"Later."

"Farewell."

The shape-shifter got off the couch. Covering his face, he ran towards the forest. Once or twice, he tripped along the way, due to his inability to see where he was going. But soon, he was little more than a tiny silhouette in the forest. He lost all sight of him completely a few moments later.

Well that had been, interesting. Stanley didn't quite know what to think of the weirdo who had only spared him because of a fluke. He supposed it was a bad idea to have someone who hated Stanford around the portal. He might try to sabotage it, or worse. He couldn't bare the thought of all the work he had managed to accomplish going down the drain. However, the guy was also the first person he had been able to talk to about Stanford. He found it strangely relieving to know that someone else was aware of his brother's existence, and disappearance. Even if he couldn't trust him, it was still worth knowing that someone out there was aware of the truth.


	3. Interruptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read, review, and enjoy!

The forest at night was rather... Nice. Now that the sphere of hatred (Or the S-U-N, as Not Stanford Pines called it) had left, he could safely leave the darker parts of the woods without the evil shape trying to burn out his eyes. Strangely enough, the Not Stanford's S-U-N was only the second evil shape that had tried to burn out his eyes in the past. The other was much more triangular, but equally yellow. Could they be related? Perhaps. At least he was free from both of them now. No one would be burning out his eyes so long as he stayed away from the bunker, and demonic _nerds._

There was a sharp, distinct chill in the air, and the full moon hung high in the sky. It filtered through the tops of the trees, lighting the world in a silvery-grey glow. The forest floor was mushy and cold, but he did not mind the freezing puddles of mud that seemed to collect everywhere. So long as he had a way to keep warm, the weather would not pose any threat. Most of the wildlife in the woods chose to leave him alone, and for that, he was grateful. He mainly encountered doubles of things he had already copied before. Mimicking them grew boring, and he wanted to find something new.

As he came to a fork in the path, he wound up face-to-face with a very large wolf. The animal bristled, and so did he. Its fur was dark, blending in perfectly with the night, but its yellow eyes, and sharp, white teeth gleamed brightly. He had seen wolves before, and knew that this was no average specimen. They were never supposed to grow this large, nor look so distinct. Instantly, he shape-shifted into it, wanting to take on a new form without getting in a fight. The wolf was alarmed, and confused for a moment. It no longer bared its teeth, and curiously sniffed him. He allowed this, noticing that his sense of smell was much stronger than it had been before. His legs felt stronger too.

This new form was not bad, and so he followed after the other animal as it walked deeper into the forest. He picked up the smell of more of them on the wind, his new, stronger sense of smell really was distracting... There was a bird sleeping in the tree to his left, and he could tell that a mountain lion had passed through the area just hours before. But not only that, there were gnomes around in this part of the forest too. Didn't they usually spend their time in the light areas of the woods? How strange.

They reached the pack of wolves. It was not a large one, and they all looked exactly the same. Thick black fur, shining amber eyes, incredibly sharp teeth. There were about twenty of them in total. Some were playing, snapping at each other and growling, while others seemed content with laying down. A few came up to greet him. He tried to be as polite and normal as possible. What was it that normal wolves did again? Their behaviour could be a little confusing. He stood still and let them touch noses with him, and tried to wag his tail slightly. No, dogs did that... Or did wolves do so as well? He was not sure, but none of them seemed to notice. If they did, they did not really care.

Something small darted across the clearing they had claimed. A gnome. The wolves that had been sitting before leapt to their feet, and started to chase after the poor thing. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins. Before he knew what he was doing, he had followed after the group, barking and snapping at it like the rest of them. The chase was long, but easy. He ran until his legs started to ache and a burning sensation started in his chest. Branches and thorns scraped at his sides. His fellow pack-mates ran alongside him, and they did not mind the difficulties the forest floor provided, so neither did he. There was something oddly exciting about chasing after the animal, and running after the others. Freedom was much more enjoyable than he could have ever imagined. He quickly found himself reaching the head of the pack as they sprang after the gnome.

Then, they came to a stream. Here, many of them stopped. Some of the wolves dove into the water, still chasing. Others remained by the bank, sadly whining and pacing along the shore. He paused too, not sure of who to follow. The ones in the water had already made it to the other side, and had run off into the darkness, but something strange was happening to the ones on the bank.

The light around them suddenly faded, as the full moon was covered by a cloud. The wolves started to howl and wail. Some of them clawed at their ears, others rolled in the dirt, attempting to stop something. He could not see as much in the darkness, but he could hear their cries becoming less canine. He walked up to the wolf that had lead him to the pack originally. But he was gone. In the animals place was... A human being? Said human stared back at him with just as much confusion.

"You?" He sounded rather out of breath. "You're a _real_ wolf?"

The moon was no long covered, and the wolf-humans started to cry again. With more visibility this time, he understood what was going on. They were shape-shifters. Their powers were merely tied to the moon. How... Interesting. He had not thought to seek out any of his own kind before this. But as he watched the pack limp back to their clearing, he wondered if he should look for fellow members of his own species. He had been separated from them for his entire life. He was unsure if they even remained in Gravity Falls, or if Stanford had done something to stop them from going about the world, free... He wouldn't put it past the nerd, trying to freeze them somewhere else... Either way, he did not know what he stood to gain from being amongst them. He didn't require social interaction, like the human-wolves and regular humans did. He liked being on his own! He had gotten used to it... Searching for others was something to contemplate for the future.

For now, he would part ways with the wolf-human moon-shape-shifters, and see what else was out there. This form's sense of smell was not so bad after all, and he picked up on the trail of Not Stanford Pines. It was about a day old, and he followed it back to where his residence was. There was no use in being a creature that had no opposable thumbs, so he transformed into the younger Not Stanford.

All the lights were off, and the doors were locked. He wandered around the sides, searching for a way in to the house. He was going to look at the journal for a while, and see what other creatures there were to transform into. Luckily, there was a window open. He slashed through the screen, and entered the house. All was dark, except for a digital clock resting on a nightstand. He could hear the quiet sound of breathing from near the table. Occasionally, the Not Stanford would mutter something under his breath, or shift in bed.

This appeared to be the Not Stanford's lair. There were clothes and papers scattered all over the stained carpet. A heater stood to one side, and appeared to be barely functioning. It seemed almost colder in the room than it was outside. The journal rested on a nightstand by his bed. The man's hand rested upon the hand on the cover. The shape-shifter pushed the clock in the journal's place.

He grabbed it, and searched for a place to read without disturbing the human. He slipped through the door and walked down the hall. He came to a larger room, that was filled with windows. Perfect, as he was not going to turn on any lights and risk the human getting mad at him. Having successfully avoided waking Not Stanford, he sat down, and started to flip through the pages of the journal.

* * *

The bright morning sun shone in his eyes. Stanley groaned, and turned on his side. Was it morning already? Why was his room so... Cold? As he turned on his back again, Stanley winced. The burn was still healing, and putting pressure on it hurt. He probably needed to change his bandages too, before the stupid thing burst, and he got blood all over the sheets again. Again, Stanley twisted, onto his stomach. The pain in his shoulder ebbed, but did not fully go away. He fumbled around for his glasses, and found them on the carpet. He placed them on, and blinked a couple times.

As his vision cleared, he stared at the clock on his night table. For a moment, the numbers on it did not seem to make sense. It was late in the morning. Very late. His alarm should have gone off by now. Stanley did not know how he managed it, but he slept in. His first thought was that he just wanted to go back to resting, and he would ignore life's many problems later. His next thought was that today was a work day, and there would be a million impatient tourists wondering where he was. The thought of all the money he would loose was enough to make him leap out of bed.

Stanley reached for the nearest clean clothes that he could find and threw them on. Shaving, showering, taking painkillers, and everything else could wait. As he got dressed, Stanley noticed his room was freezing. Had he really left the window wide open like than on purpose? And was that a scratch in the screen? Great, just more stuff that he was going to be paying for. There were probably a million wild animals running around in the house that he would have to get rid of too. He had barely been awake for a minute, and already the day was not looking to be very promising.

As he did up his tie, Stanley walked towards the gift-shop. He had tidied up the front room the most out of every area in the house, and this was where he was going to set up his main base of operations. Until he could find a better way to hide the basement, there was a shelf in front of it, covered in the novelty knick-knacks that he had created. As he approached the area, Stanley could already hear voices. He prepared to placate the angry crowd, and tried to think up a good excuse for why he had slept in so late.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please, I can explain-"

Much to his surprise, the angry mob of tourists he was expecting were not waiting outside of the Murder Hut. They were in the gift shop, and mobbed around something in the middle of the floor. Stanley stopped mid-sentence, confused as to what had all the morons so amused. He pushed his way through the group, and saw the tiny version of himself within the center. There were dark circles ringed under his eyes, and he was holding Stanford's journal tightly against his chest. He tried to back away from some of the crowd, only to be faced with the other side, which he would then back away from again.

"Mister Pines your son is so adorable!" One woman cooed, pinching the boy's cheek. "Aren't you just the cutest little thing? Yesh you are! Yesh you _are!"_

"Stop that!" He growled, batting her hand.

"You're _sho_ cwute!" A woman to his left chimed in, using the same sickeningly sweet tone of voice.

"I am not cute! I am a force to be feared!" He rose a fist to the sky. "Fear me! FEAR ME!"

The shape-shifter hissed, and stepped away from the woman, only to bump into the other side of the crowd.

"Aw! Doshe someone want to be tweated like a big boy?"

"Stop talking to me like that! Get these females away from me!"

Stanley got over his shock, stepped into the small circle that had formed around the shape-shifter. He grabbed the journal from him with one hand, and stuffed it into his blazer. Stanley wrapped an arm around him with the other. The tired, angry "little boy" hissed again, and he clung on to Stanley's leg, not bothering to fight the hold Stanley had on his shoulders. However, he still furiously glared at the crowd, and looked ready to attack all of them.

"Ladies and uh, wow, you're all ladies. Well uh, this is my uh-"

"Son." The shape-shifter venomously spat.

"He's just visiting for the weekend."

Stanley did not quite know why people in Gravity Falls actually showed up to his tourist trap, but they did. Particularly the ladies. Already he could feel more lies piling on top of the lies as he tried to explain why there was a tiny version of himself in the place. So Stanford had a son now. A son who would be called... Stan. That couldn't make things any more confusing than it already was, could it? Stanley hoped that the Stan confusion couldn't hurt any of the lies he was already living.

"I didn't know you were married Mr. _Mystery_!"

The woman, Susan Wentworth, batted her blatantly false eyelashes at him. Stanley did his best not to shudder in disgust.

"It's uh, complicated. You know how divorces can be and all..."

"I had no idea you were a single father!"

"I'm just trying to provide for my _son_ -"

The shape-shifter tried to reach for the journal again. Stanley rested a hand on top of his own, preventing the boy from trying anything. The shape-shifter then nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. Stanley roughly messed up the boy's hair, in what would have seemed like an affectionate gesture to everyone else. The shape-shifter shoved him slightly, but Stanley did not try to go any farther before they broke out into a fist-fight. A fight Stanley knew that he would not be able to win.

"-while showing the people of America the true wonders and mysteries of the planet!"

"That is so _schweet!"_

"How poetic!"

"You truly are a man of-"

As all the women leaned uncomfortably close to Stanley, he started to sweat. Tugging at his collar, he quickly said;

" _Son_ , you stay here well I give these nice ladies a tour."

"But-"

"You should listen to your father you know." A woman said.

"He only wants what's best for you."

"Er, yeah. So say here."

The shape-shifter's promise went unheard as the tour group practically dragged Stanley out of the Murder Hut.

* * *

One incredibly uncomfortable tour later, Stanley returned. Much to his surprise, the shape-shifter was still in the gift shop, like he had asked. The boy was sulking by the looks of it. His arms were crossed, and he was quite clearly pouting. Crossing his arms, Stan walked up to the kid. He looked away from the floor, pretending to not see him there.

"So, you broke into my house."

"You said I could look at the journal whenever I wanted." He replied.

"You still broke in."

"I would have left if not for your son-"

"The sun-"

"Don't interrupt me while I'm speaking old man!" He snarled. "The fire circle had risen too high in the sky for me to leave. Then, those insane females arrived, and I had no choice but to let them into your dwelling. But they assaulted me with their affection and sickening tones of voice!"

_"And_ you just started a whole new lie that I have to keep up."

"Be thankful I did not transform, and spill their blood all over your floors! I could have you know! But I chose not to!"

"While I appreciate you not killing my customers, you can't just break into my house-"

"Stanford's house." He corrected.

"I _am_ Stanford now. So it's mine."

"You..." The shape-shifter yawned. "You have taken up his name? His place in your meaningless human society?"

"Yes. So don't go around acting like we're two different people. As far as the dimwits in this town know, Stanley Pines doesn't exist."

"Stanford and... Stanley?"

"It took my pop eighteen years before he could come up with a more creative name, and by that time, Shermy got it."

He yawned again, and rubbed his eyes. The boy barely looked like he could stand on his own feet. He visibly wobbled, and the threats he posed before seemed meaningless. After all, how could such a tiny child do anything remotely threatening? He had noodles for arms and was barely reached the top of Stanley's legs in height. The childish voice he had did not help make anything he said seem more threatening. Especially when he tried to use such large words. He just ended up sounding ridiculous.

"I need more sleep. But I shall return."

"Yeah, you do that. _Son."_

The shape-shifter visibly tensed when Stanley said this. His eyes flashed dangerously for a moment, and his hands curled into fists. Stanley noticed this, and gave the guy some space. He was dangerous, and he didn't want to wind up on the wrong side of this guy either. His head still ached from their first meeting, a pain that not even aspirin could get rid of.

"Don't say that."

"Hey, I like it about as much as you do. Just be glad I said you were only staying for the weekend."

"Stupid humans."

With that, the shape-shifter stepped outside. He slammed the door behind him, and left. Stanley shook his head. Apparently he was now Stanford Pines, divorcé, and proud bearer of a preteen son. When would the lies end?

"Stupid shape-shifters."


	4. Conning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March break is next week, and I've been devoting all my time to ISUs so I'll hopefully have more time to write over the break instead of during my week off. But, we'll all see how that turns out.

It was hard to tell if the interior of the gnome pub was actually seedy, or if it was a nice, normal hang-out. Everything in this next of the woods was a little too… Bright for his liking. Not like the sun, but awful enough make him constantly squint. The beard was certainly not helping things. It was too itchy. Facial hair was awful, and he had no idea how Ford had ever put up with it. He had found the darkest corner in the little restaurant, a difficult feat. He had the rickety, wooden table to himself and a glass of orange juice in front of him, freshly stolen from the town diner. That was the only good thing about the little pub: they carried decent drinks. He no longer had to steal from the imposter. Well, he still did, just to spite the man, but there were other ways of getting what he wanted, even if the man suddenly decided that he was no longer going to buy orange juice.

Money was easy to come across in the pub. Idiots dropped coins everywhere, they fell through the floorboards, where no one (Well, except for him.) could reach. It was not difficult to impersonate an employee either. Everyone was too stupid, and drunk, to ever notice the double who occasionally stole from the cash register, or collected tips for an identical employee.

It was incredibly packed in the pub that day. There were so many gnomes, it seemed like the place would burst. The sound was deafening, the entire place seemed to shake. The doors opened and closed so frequently that it seemed like they would fall off their hinges. Smears of rainbow-coloured liquid pooled on the floor. Knowing their source, he made sure to avoid all of them. Each table was over maximum capacity, but no one seemed to mind as they sung and drank.

Today was some sort of spring holiday. Green shamrocks were strung from the ceiling, and there were golden symbols painted on the wall, just for the occasion. In addition to that, almost every patron was wearing green hats instead of the usual scarlet. He was pinched more than once. It wasn't until he wore green that they stopped. He had no interest in celebrating with the rest though. He just wanted to drink his orange juice in peace, and scout out any news. Granted this was probably not the best place to go for peace, but it was the best place for news.

Everyone in the lighter part of the woods came here. Seeing as he couldn't go to the sunny parts during the day, he was forced to come at night. Even then it was annoyingly bright. But, the information was interesting, and the juice was good. He was still getting a feel for the place and wanted to know everything about his surroundings so he could blend in without question. He didn't want to be caught off guard, or alert the wrong person to who he was. That would cause problems, and he was not going to go back to imprisonment because he trusted someone too much.

The laughter swelled, and several people stepped back, pushing against his table. His orange juice nearly tipped over, but he saved it. Growling, he got to his feet, planning on yelling at the fool that dared get in his way. He couldn't tell who it had been. Everyone looked exactly the same. There was more laughter, and everyone raised their glasses in a toast. He heard cheering. He picked up his glass, copying the rest, but faked taking a sip. He wanted to know what he was drinking to first.

The source of everyone's happiness seemed to be coming from the bar. He pushed his way through the tightly-knit crowd, and reached the inner ring. A half-circle was formed around one of the patrons. He seemed utterly unremarkable, except for his bright, amber eyes. His first instinct was to flee, as he was not going to put up with anything that _nerd_ , was doing. He was all trouble, and nothing but that. Running seemed like the best option, before he noticed. His eyes weren't looking at him though, he was too busy cackling with the rest of the group, getting drunk. He was charming them with lies no doubt. One gnome walked up and slapped the demon on the back.

"You did us a real service, getting rid of that jerk!"

"It was my pleasure! You guys deserve better than to be studied like animals!"

"Tell us what you did again!" Someone in the crowd yelled.

He flashed a toothy grin.

"I tore his sanity to shreds and kicked him out of his own home! He's in another dimension now! Probably getting chased by like, a... A monster or something, I dunno'. Pretty terrible though!"

So he was lying to get popularity? Yes, that seemed about right, and certainly not surprising. The stupid nerd thought he was _so_ great because he had tricked _one_ person. Meanwhile, he had been deceiving and entire civilization of idiots, and they had not realized anything. Oh that _jerk_ and his stupid ego, he hated watching him lie, and preen like he was. Especially when it was so obvious that he was making up stories. He knew what had _actually_ happened, the imposter had told him the truth!

There was another round of cheers.

"See? What a guy! I say we give him free drinks for the night!"

" _Woo_ _hoo_! Drinks are all on me fellas!"

How did that make _any_ sense? Were the drinks going to all be free for the rest of the night, or would only one person be getting them? No one seemed to question the logic, as more orders were taken and given to everyone there. He passed, no longer interested in the local gossip. This was different, it was something important. It was also something he hadn't really been thinking about either, or at least, trying not to think about. Every memory of that six-fingered looser was painful. He was glad to wash his hands of the monster who had raised him from infancy. The jerk who thought it was justified to _freeze_ him because he was "too dangerous." So was a tranquilizer gun, but people weren't hankering to cryogenically freeze them!

He didn't want to remember what his brother had said either, talking about finding _him_ again. He was searching for the other journals. And the moment he got those, he would have access to them as well. It didn't matter what the brother was planning to do with them… He forced his attention to go back to the bar, not wanting to debate over what to do about the twins.

The patrons were still laughing, they always seemed to be laughing, even when nothing was funny. He didn't understand why they had to be so happy at a time like this. It was miserable and cold outside. There was sleet, and puddle of ice. The interior of the building smelled like alcohol and strawberries, yet none of that seemed to matter as they congratulated the liar.

"But there's still that other guy, in his house!"

"What? That idiot? Don't even worry about him! Between you, me, and the other one hundred seventeen people in this building, it'll take him decades to get that thing working without my help. And when he does… I might just have to push him in as well! Ha!"

"You'd actually do that?"

The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think about what he was doing. The piercing gaze was pinned on him now, and he felt his insides freeze up

"Well, probably not. I actually have plans for him, and the rest of their family."

He kept quiet this time, having enough sense to stay silent. It was exactly the valuable information he had been waiting for, and there would no doubt be more revealed as the night went on.

* * *

Stanley opened the fridge. The orange juice was practically empty, which meant his house had been broken into again, even if the journal was resting in its usual space. The only reason why the carton wasn't empty was because the dumb shape-shifter was too lazy to throw it out. He closed the fridge, and turned around. Sitting at the kitchen table was the orange-juice thief. Apparently he had moved up to higher forms of crime as well, because he was munching on a slice of toast. The toast he had made not a _minute_ ago, for himself.

The kid's (At least, he was pretending to be a kid, _his_ kid.) eyes had dark circles under them. Darker than usual. Stanley wondered if he was actually half-boy half-raccoon at the moment. He may have looked gaunt and tired as ever, but there was an oddly haunted look to his face. The normal, bright intensity behind his expression had faded, almost as if he were worried about something. His eyes were trained on him as he quietly munched on his stolen toast.

"If you keep stealing my food you're gonna' have to start paying for it."

"I'll tell the entire town you don't feed me."

"Ha! Like they'd believe it! What do you want anyways you little freeloader?"

"You're…" He set down his toast, and swallowed hard. "You're not getting any help from… Someone else, right?"

It didn't take much to make Stanley suspicious of the guy, and he had done much now. Folding his arms over his chest, Stanley replied;

"I don't trust you to be nice around the customers."

"No, I meant with the…" He pointed to the floor. "You're on your own, right?"

"Alright, where is this going? Is it a sabotage attempt? You want to dismantle it don't you?!"

"Are you or are you not working with someone?"

"I'm not letting you help-"

"Damn it old man!" He snarled, slamming his hands on the table. "Just answer the question!"

"No one is helping me! No one in this town knows anything!" His voice broke. "I… Even though I need someone's help. It's just… Not gonna' happen. I can't let anyone else find out."

Stanley pulled out a chair and sat down across from the guy. He grabbed the second, untouched of piece of toast from his plate, and started to eat. The shape-shifter glared, but made no move to reclaim it. The toast was completely dry. No margarine, no peanut butter… Maybe he was too dumb to realize that either of those things actually went with toast. It was more like eating a mouthful of crumbling dust than breakfast. He was too lazy to stand at this point, and continued to eat.

"I…"

He looked back at the shape-shifter. Who seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"What?"

With the brusque question, he seemed to regain some of his defiance.

"I'm going to be putting up a shield around this house."

"Says who?"

"I've been wandering through the forest, and many of the creatures there resent being studied by… _You."_

Great, just fantastic. He had escaped all of his own demons and their demands for money, and now he was stuck with the enemies that his brother had made. Except this time around, it wasn't just goons and their weapons. It was ghosts and demons and whatever weird stuff this town had to offer. At least he had a shape-shifter on his side. Sort of. Not really. He was just sort of here for the journal and food. Why he hadn't been killed yet was a mystery. Or maybe the guy was just incapable of purchasing orange juice on his own. Given everything, it wouldn't be that surprising. And either way, there was just no escaping the problems that came with identity theft.

"I'm sure I can handle whatever comes my way."

"I'm sure you can. It's just one particular… _Nerd_ that I'm worried about."

"So I'll beat him up."

"The problem is he can't really be beat up under most circumstances. Which is why I want a shield to keep him out around the house."

"Fine. But it better not scare off any tourists."

The shape-shifter grinned.

"You won't even know that it's there."

"Good. Now scram before the Saturday rush comes around."

Stanley picked up the plate and dumped it in the sink. He straightened his tie, and entered the gift shop. Things had been going nicely ever since he got the idea to splice taxidermy animals to make new attractions. The tourists loved it, and he was making more money than ever before. The best part was that the Gravity Falls Museum of History had no shortage of the dumb things. He could just sneak in every now and again, to pick up what he needed. The shop looked more abundant than ever with so many oddities. He flipped the sign on the door to open, and sat down at the counter.

It didn't take long for the first people to enter. They were out of towners too, even better. They were easier to scam than the people in town, even if it wasn't by much. They were ready to buy anything as a keepsake. Postcards he had stolen from the mail-man, key chains made out of paper clips, and even the junk mail advertisements he had fished out of people's recycling. Taking a deep breath and putting a smile on his face, he strode up to the group.

"Hi there! I'm Stanford Pines, man of mystery! I guess you could call me Mister Mystery! And this is the Murder Hut! Is there anything I can help you with? _Oddities_ you'd like to see, gifts you'd like to _buy?"_

"What's that over there?" A man asked.

Stanley looked in the direction he was pointing at, which just so happened to be the rest of the room.

"What's which?" Stanley asked.

"That boy." A woman chimed in. "Why is he sweeping the exact same spot?"

"Does he need a girlfriend?" Their daughter asked.

Boy could only mean one person, and now that it was mentioned, he could see the head of hair peeking out from behind the still-drying cat-opus. His smile became twitchier, but he nevertheless tried to not let it faze him. Hadn't he told that bozo to scram? Stanley strode over to the boy, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but did not stop sweeping the spot. He kept his eyes downcast, and there was a slight dusting of blush on his cheeks.

"Why this, this is the Mysterious Mister Mystery, _Junior_! For twenty bucks I'll tell ya' more about him."

The bill was shoved in his hand, and they eagerly stared at him.

" _Junior_ here is most definitely single." Stanley began.

The girl squealed, and the boy bowed his head father down. He definitely looked like he regretted his decision to stick around now.

"But he's also cursed!"

They gasped.

"Yes _cursed_ , by a horrible, terrible-" Stanley grabbed the nearest attraction, which just so happened to be an hourglass. "THIS! And this curse forces him to sweep the floors, unable to speak, or move his legs!"

"How terrible!"

"Is there a cure?"

"Does the cure involve a kiss from his one true love?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. A mixture of the colours green and white seems to snap him out of the-"

Forty bucks was waved in front of the kid's face. He blinked, and looked upwards. Stanley mouthed "play along" at the shape-shifter.

"The trance." He slowly said, taking the money. "This money seems to have-"

He froze up again.

"Quick! Show him more before the curse takes over again."

Sixty dollars.

"More!"

Ninety dollars.

"Just a little-"

One hundred. Stanley decided to quit before he got ahead, there were still other ways to scam the guy out of his money, he didn't want to blow it all on one attraction, and get suspicious. Ruffling the kid's hair, he continued to give them a tour of the display area, slowly draining them for everything that they had on them. In the end, he even managed to give the place's phone number to the girl (despite the fact that it was already on the flyer her mother was holding), in exchange for her little gold stud earrings.

By the time they were sent on their way, the suckers must have given him two-hundred dollars. Or maybe two-fifty. Either way, he still had enough money to buy groceries for three months. He locked it in his safe, a triumphant grin on his face. When he turned to leave his office, there was someone sweeping just outside of it. Stanley tapped him on the shoulder, eliciting another nervous flinch from the tiny figure. He was wilted over the broom, as if he wanted to make himself look smaller.

"Hey, look at me."

"I do what I want." He replied, as if that explained everything.

"You can't keep sticking around and mooching off me if you're not going to respect my rules."

"I could kill you."

"So could a door with one hinge. But I'm not going to give the front door everything it wants just because it could kill me. Now you're either going to explain why you're still here, and start to listen to me a little more, or I'll just rip out the pages I need from the journal and burn the rest like I should have done to begin with."

The shape-shifter scowled, and he looked back down at the floor. It was hard to watch himself keep his eyes downcast and shift in place. Even the little twisting motions he was making with his balled hands reminded Stanley of when he was a child. Getting in trouble typically meant a good scolding, or the belt, and he remembered trying (and usually failing) to weasel his way out of trouble. Every tiny gesture reminded him of it. Not that it was hard to forget when the shape-shifter was mimicking a younger version of himself, right down to the clothes that he wore.

"Stanford has many enemies." He spat. "And if the one who can possess bodies realizes I'm free and helping you-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. This creep can possess bodies?"

"Yes, it's the only way he can interact with us. But so long as there's a shield around the place, he won't be able to reach the inside of the house, or the gateway. But until I make that shield, you could be in…" He mumbled the rest into his shirt.

"Yeesh kid-"

"I'm not a kid!" He snapped.

"Oh yeah, that's right. In human years, you're an infant."

"Rrr! I doesn't matter! You're probably in danger so I'm going to stick around and make sure that no triangular jerks decide to show up on your doorstep!"

"So you're just going to stick around here and cost me money?"

"Yes! So get used to having a son, _old man_!"

The shape-shifter dropped the broom and stormed out of the hallway. Geeze that guy was over-emotional. Was he going through some sort of shape-shifter puberty? Just, the way he talked, and acted… Yup, he was definitely going through some kind of childhood to adult transition. He sounded more like a younger Stanford than ever, even with his ridiculous twelve-year-old voice. But, he had made him a wad of cash within ten minutes. He could use talent like that around the Murder Hut. Stanley felt a tiny grin show on his face. He was going to milk this guy for all he was worth.


	5. Thievery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review please!

Stanley picked at his miserable, half-cooked, half-eaten TV dinner. Only crumbs remained from the sorry excuse of what could be considered chicken, leaving him with a small portion of corn, and some green beans. Both were swimming in water, making them soggy and tasteless. He morosely pushed them around with his fork, but didn't eat any. The only thing that he had wanted to touch was the chicken, but the shape-shifter had stolen it while he wasn't paying attention. The jerk was gone now, probably off stealing valuables from the Murder Hut gift shop or rummaging through his things.

Stupid kid.

Even if he wanted to eat the vegetables, he didn't have that much of an appetite. His back wasn't feeling so good lately, especially around the area where he had been burned. He couldn't go to a doctor though. He still didn't have that kind of money on his hands, and if he was doing badly, they would want to make him pay a ton of money. With every breath, he could feel the aching sensation spread throughout the rest of his back. He had repositioned himself a few times. First sitting up straight, only to slouch when that started to grow uncomfortable. Maybe he was getting old, or maybe it was a seasonal thing.

The sun remained longer, and soon enough, it was daylight savings time. They gained another hour of daylight, another hour in which he could attract tourists to the place. The snow outside had completely melted, leaving the roads muddy and the grass soaking wet. The world seemed to be washing itself of the old, revealing new shoots of green grass and buds on the trees. He would be glad when the snow had left all together. More than once he had slipped on ice that winter, and he was sick of having to pay for heating in the place. It was more for the tourists than himself. Idiots always complained if it was too cold in the place, so he had to keep the house at a reasonable temperature, otherwise they wouldn't stick around.

The back door was opened and slammed shut. A burst of cold air followed the shape-shifter as he stomped into the room. The guy was always in some sort of bad mood. Then again, so was he. The kid tore through the drawer with the silverware, and grabbed himself two steak knives. He set it at the table, one by his hand, and the next at the seat across from Stanley's spot. He left the kitchen, and the stomping sounds stopped. However, Stanley heard that he was dragging something. Not a moment later, the kid dragged an entire deer into the kitchen. With a grunt of effort, he placed it on the table. It knocked over his TV dinner (not that he minded) and the table legs creaked dangerously.

"Sweet Moses kid! What the heck is this?!"

"You told me to get food for us if I was going to freeload." He responded, picking up his knife. "So, I got food."

Anticipating the bloody mess the kid was going to make of the place, Stanley took the knife away from him before he could start cutting the deer. He didn't need to see this. The animal was still breathing, and its eyes were open, if not a little glassy. Picturing how much blood there would be, and all the animal's guts getting eaten made him feel nauseous. Plus, that thing was huge! The kid didn't seriously need that much meat to get by. He was well, a kid, pretending to be a kid. There was no way he had been able to eat an entire deer as a twelve-year old. It just wasn't possible.

"You can't just eat raw meat!"

"Maybe humans can't, but I'm perfectly capable of digesting raw meat."

"Not in this house you aren't. Now put that thing back where it came from or so help me I'll-"

"Do you want me to keep eating your food or not?" He asked, placing his hands on his hips. "Because if that's the case-"

"I don't care if you're going to eat that." A lie, he really didn't want to imagine that entire thing getting eaten. "But I don't want a mess in the kitchen. It's already bad as it is without me having to clean up bloodstains."

"Where am I supposed to eat it?"

"Oh I dunno', maybe the woods, where you found it?"

"Most things living there don't approve." He said. "They'd just drive me off and throw a funeral for the dumb creature."

"Ugh, seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Can't you like, collect berries or something instead?"

"That takes forever! Other animals always try to steal them, or you get arrested for berry-picking without a permit. Or-"

The shape-shifter growled. Something told Stan that the guy was talking from personal experience. He knew what it was like, not being able to find food through any means, whether it was honest or not. He supposed that he should have been nicer to the kid, because of this, but it was still his food that he was taking. He knew that the kid could find food on his own, or steal from others with his shape-shifting powers.

If anyone needed help getting by, it was himself. He was the one struggling to make ends meet! He was the one who had to rely on a business to make everything that he had. That kid should be helping him make money, not the other way around. In fact, why wasn't he doing that? Stanley smiled, as he came up with an idea.

"Say kid-"

"I'm not a child." He reminded.

"What if we take this thing to the butcher's? They'll cut it up into bite-sized pieces for us. Plus they won't make a bloody mess in the house."

"I... Could live with that."

"Great." He stood up, and stretched. "Help me carry it into town."

Stan was already wearing his jacket, he didn't have the heat on when there were no tourists after all. He slipped on his boots, and then grabbed the front of the deer. The kid took the back legs, and they lifted it together. The table groaned again as the deer was taken off it. Stan had no idea how the kid had actually dragged the thing out from the forest and into the house. He could barely manage it, even with his help. Maybe shape-shifters had some sort of strength on top of everything? The thought that his twelve-year old self could actually be stronger than him was ridiculous.

They put the deer in the back of his car, and drove into town. The butcher's was not too far in the downtown area. Parking was free on the weekends, so he skipped feeding the meter. The kid was fascinated by the window display. He stared unblinkingly at the cuts of meat and links of sausage on display. There was a sign in one corner, listing the meat available, and the services being offered for all the hunters in the area. The place not only did butchering, but taxidermy as well. Stan made a mental note to check around and see if he could steal anything for the Murder Hut while he was in there. Those fake animal mash-ups were a real hit with the crowd, he definitely had to make more of those.

He had to drag the kid away from the window so he could get help with moving the deer into the place. A tiny bell, shaped like a sheep, rung as they entered. The kid's eyes darted everywhere as he surveyed the area, looking for some kind of threat. Stanley looked around too. He had never actually wanted to spend the money to buy fresh meat, so he had never been in before. The stuff was crazy expensive.

The interior had a red and white theme going for it. The tiled floor was scarlet, with white cement holding them together. The walls were also white, but they were covered with decorations. There were butcher knives in a glass case, ribbons and trophies from some sort of fair. There were also photographs of animals. Most of them were incredibly grainy, they looked like they belonged in a history book. They had pictures of prize-wining animals, overly large, and covered in all sorts of first-prize ribbons.

The kid was staring at the counter, which was a curved shape. There were different cuts of meat, ranging from chicken to beef underneath the case. Stanley wrinkled his nose at some of the organs that were on sale. They were all a sickly pale grey-yellow in colour, and he doubted they tasted very good. He could still remember the disgusting smell that lingered around the house whenever his ma fried up liver. It was like burning garbage, but worse.

Just the mere memory of it was enough to reaffirm that he was not going to actually buy anything. Plus the prices the organs were awful. Who would pay that much for the garbage parts of the animal? They were even more expensive than some of the steaks that were on sale! The red meat he could understand the kid staring at, but the rest was just nasty.

There was a bell sitting on the counter. Stanley rung it, and kid copied him. A older-looking man wearing an apron emerged from the back room. When he laid eyes on the shape-shifter, the butcher grinned. He leaned over the counter and started to pinch the boy's cheek.

"Well aren't you the cutest little-"

Considering the guy's temper in similar situations, it was a miracle that he did not bite the butcher's head off. Literally. Instead, he patiently endured the displays of affection, only showing a little exasperation as the man ruffled his hair, messing it up more than it already was.

There was a basket on the counter, filled with sealed packages of pepperoni. Stanley pocketed some while they were both distracted, and smoothed any visible lumps that could show in his jacket. Only after he finished that did Stanley decide to save the kid. If his patience was pushed too far, things could get ugly. He gestured to the deer behind them, and awkwardly said;

"Hi uh, we'd like to get this deer butchered."

The butcher was still not paying attention to him. He could have slipped over the counter and stolen a steak if he wanted to.

"Where's your jacket mister? It's barely spring!"

"Ha! Well you know kids, not feeling the cold and refusing to wear their jackets which they definitely own."

"You'll catch your death of cold in this weather!"

"I will..." The kid gave a twitching smile. "Make sure to wear it next time."

The man wagged a finger at him.

"You'd better. Now, what can I help you with?"

"We'd like this deer, butchered."

He looked over the counter, taking in the enormous animal.

"Ah yes, I see. Any particular cuts?"

Stanley clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. He had grown used to feeling the slight flinch that came every time they touched, and this occasion was no different.

"What do you want, Kiddo?"

"Everything."

"He's a big eater." Stan said, trying to laugh off his apparent strangeness. "We'll take whatever's edible. We don't want to waste anything after all, right, _Son_?"

"Of course, _Father_."

"Hm." The man tapped his chin. "I'm closing up in soon, you'd have to come for it in the afternoon."

"How much will that be?"

"Twenty bucks, twelve if I can keep a few steaks for sale."

"Deal!"

Stan gave the man his money.

"Pleasure doing business with you-"

"Stanford. Stanford Pines."

"Stanford. Now, could you help me carry this to the back?"

Together, they dragged the animal to the back room. There, the stench of thawing meet grew incredibly strong. There was a large chopping block in the back, and there was a half-sliced chunk of meat resting on it. The animal's blood was being funnelled into a bucket. Stanley had to wrinkle his nose at the sight. Seeing so much meat, not just pieces of meat, but half-finished animals, combined with the smell of the room, made him want to gag. While it wasn't that noticeable in the front of the store, it was overpowering in the back.

There was a sausage-maker on the counter, and an entire wall devoted to a rack of knives. Large, small, delicate and precise, knives so large they could be used as swords instead of chopping the kitchen. Was it even necessary to hold that many in the place? It seemed excessive to him. They carried the animal over to a freezer, where there were more bits and pieces of animals hanging from hooks and draped along the ceiling. When they returned, the shape-shifter was still staring at the meat on display within the counter.

"C'mon, let's go."

They gave their goodbyes to the butcher, and went on their way back home. As they were driving, the kid started to fix his hair in the mirror. By fix, that meant he was messing it up back to the unruly state it had been before. There was a difference. He could recall doing it himself a lot when he was a kid... Did remaining like him cause the shape-shifter to pick up his old habits? Was that a thing? Stanley glanced at the kid, but just as quickly looked back at the road, avoiding the pedestrians.

"So you ah, see how much better that is?"

"I will appreciate not having to chew through bones." He murmured. "And blood really is a pain to wash."

They did not say anything for the remaining drive, settling back into a slightly tense silence. When they arrived, the shape-shifter ran ahead. Before Stan could unlock the door, he had already done something to shift the lock. Stanley knew he shouldn't have been surprised, seeing as the weirdo regularly broke into his house, but it was still strange to see him do so.

He checked the lock with his key. Finding no damage, he continued on his way to the kitchen. The kid was already there, rummaging through his fridge. Was he ever sick of eating?! Stupid shape-shifter was going to eat him out of house and home at this rate! Stan grabbed the kid by the scruff of the neck and pulled him back.

"Stop that! Let go of me! I don't have anything!"

Judging by the defensive expression on his face, and the way his hands were held behind his back, Stan seriously doubted that was the case.

"Hand it over."

"I could kill you instead."

"So could food poisoning. Now hand it over."

Grumbling to himself, he placed the thing in his hand. Stanley cringed as he realized that it was a raw eye-round steak, wrapped in bacon. But not only was it so raw it may as well have been living, there was an enormous bite taken out of it.

"Spit it out."

"Nyah!" He stuck out his tongue, displaying his empty mouth. "Take that, Old Man!"

"Damn it kid, stop eating raw meat! It's not good for you!"

"You're... Not mad about me stealing?"

"How much did you take?"

The shape-shifter pointed to the fridge, and he saw that there were three more (poorly hidden) eye-round steaks there. Stan couldn't help it, he laughed. So that was what the kid had been doing while they were in the back room. That also explained why he was so focused on the window display earlier. That old guy would never notice that there was anything missing from that side of the store, it was chock-full of items. He pulled out the pepperoni sticks he had concealed within his own jacket. These were pathetic in comparison to what the kid had stolen!

"Here, munch on this." He gave a stick of pepperoni to the kid. "Not only is it safe to eat raw, because it's been smoked, it'll tide you over."

"What are you going to return them?" He asked.

"No, I'm going to cook them. Your immune system will thank you, trust me."

The shape-shifter cautiously reached for the pepperoni, almost as if he were expecting something. When nothing did happen, he snatched it from his hands, and pushed himself up on to the counter. From there, he rested on top of the fridge, glaring at him suspiciously. Stan didn't know what to make of that. He knew that the guy wasn't actually human, but it was easy to forget when he looked like a child. It only made things more jarring when he did something that wasn't quite, human.

He shook his head, and did his best to ignore the presence in the room. He needed to cook these steaks before the kid keeled over from E coil. He found a frying pan, some salt, and canola oil. It wasn't going to be anything fancy, but it was better than having a dead body to dispose of. Or worse, a fake child who didn't legally exist to take to the hospital.

He turned on one of the elements, and waited until the oil was hot to place the steaks on. At least he knew that much about cooking. The oil fizzed and popped, flecks of it flying everywhere. Little drops of oil landed on his hands, leaving pink burns. Instinctively, he jerked his hand away from the stove, thinking that he had been burned badly. It wasn't a bad burn though. He was fine. He wasn't fighting with his brother... Stanford was gone now, and he was in the present, cooking steaks.

The crinkling sound of plastic snapped him out of it. The shape-shifter was chewing on the packaging, attempting to get to the meat. He stopped when they made eye-contact, and he bared his teeth. Stanley picked up the spatula and poked the steaks. They sizzled in response. He looked back at the kid, who was struggling to open the package still.

"Want some help with that?"

"No."

Stanley took another package of pepperoni and opened it with the scissors. He handed it up to the shape-shifter, who growled for all his kindness. He left it on top of the fridge. The moment he went back to cooking the steaks, he heard the kid start to eat the opened package instead. The one one that had not been opened was dropped on the counter. There were teeth marks all around it. Stanley sighed, doing his best to hide a grin. He flipped the steaks and poured a little more salt on them. He had no idea what he was doing, but at least they were turning a half-decent brown.

He was glad to see the bloody-red colour gone. After seeing so much of it in the butcher's place, he didn't know if his stomach could take much more of it. He cooked them until they were a solid brown throughout. He took the steak that already had a bite in it, and cut out a slice. There was not the slightest hint of pink remaining, so he figured all the things that could have possibly killed the kid were dead. He placed two of the steaks on a plate for the kid, and the other one went to him.

"Here, all done."

"Pass it up." He mumbled between mouthfuls of pepperoni.

"Take it or whatever."

Stanley flipped off the light in the kitchen. The guy wandered around his house at night all the time, he could probably see better in the dark than most. He took his own meal to the den, and sat down in front of the television. He settled in his spot, and relaxed. After a long day of being up and on the go, it was nice to rest. It was strange how much he welcomed having a structured life.

Knowing what was coming in the day ahead made things less stressful. He didn't have to worry about defending his territory, or wonder if this would be the day that his old prison pals finally caught up to him. He didn't have to protect his knees from a motel owner, or come up with some sort of excuse to keep the police off his back. As unpredictable as all the freakish stuff in Gravity Falls happened to be, it was an improvement from his life before. Plus, Stanford had colour TV.

He fished the remote out from its spot between the cushion, and turned it on. For several minutes, he surfed through the channels. The town's selection was terrible, colour TV or not. He settled for some weird, badly dubbed Spanish soap-opera. There was always dramatic organ music playing in the background, and the character's mouths were nowhere near in synch with what they were saying, but it was the best he could find. Surprisingly, he soon found himself being wrapped up in the dumb world of the characters. It was just so well-written. The conflict between Juan and Anita... It was just so tense! And those costumes, who could've thought that a person could wear an outfit entirely made out of jeans?

His eyes remained glued to the screen, even as they started to feel strained. It was only soft scuffling of feet that got him to look away. Normally the kid was dead-silent when he walked, so this probably meant that he wanted his attention. The kid slowly emerged from the shadows, stopping with a good amount of distance between them.

"Are you going to eat that?"

Looking down at the untouched steak, he shook his head.

"Take it. I'm not hungry."

He held out the plate. It was snatched from his hands, and the kid carried it further away. He sat down and started to chew on the steak. Stanley went back to watching the show, doing his best to ignore the free-loading weirdo. At least he had stolen the food from somewhere that wasn't his own fridge.

Not too shabby of a job either, considering that they had only been gone for a couple of minutes. Come to think of it, where had the kid even hidden them? He didn't have a jacket. Something told him he didn't want to know, and it was probably a good thing that he hadn't eaten any of the meat himself. Stanley made a mental note to get the kid a jacket with inner pockets. He'd probably be smart enough to grab something if they went grocery shopping together.

A tiny hand appeared on the edge of the chair, and he popped up right in front of him. Stanley nearly jumped out of his skin, not expecting that to happen so suddenly.

"So, you're truly not _upset_ , that I have _stolen_?"

"What do you want a medal or somethin'?"

"Crime does not, bother you?"

"I stole those pepperoni didn't I?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"And you've seen what I do to those tourists."

"I was under the impression that was normal."

"Look kid-"

"I am not a child-"

"-I'm just doing what I have to so I can get through the day. If that bothers you-"

"It doesn't bother me! I just thought it would bother you. Stanford never liked it when I used my powers for-" He sneered. "Evil."

"Well I'm not Stanford am I? You can steal whatever you want, so long as trouble doesn't wind up on my doorstep."

The shape-shifter grinned at this.

"Stanford's doorstep."

"That too. Now be quiet. Christian is about to propose to Sophia."

"Who's doing what?"

" _Shhh_! Just sit down and watch!"

The kid lay down right by his feet, and he started to observe what was going on in the show. Soon enough, both of them were completely absorbed into the fictitious world.


	6. Violence

A kick to the ribs was his not-so welcome awakening. The shape-shifter rolled away from the source, growling and rubbing his side in pain. What had that been for? The one who had kicked him was still sleeping however, there was no point in kicking back or snapping at him. He stirred slightly in his sleep again, and muttered something under his breath. Nightmares? Seriously?

The man had the soft chair, while the floor was the only available space for himself! It was not a very comfortable floor either. The carpet was thin, and incredibly itchy. With every little movement, dust was stirred, and it tickled his nose. Not that it really mattered, seeing as he had fallen asleep on the carpet anyways. The point being, if the man was just going to have nightmares that would wake him up, he did not deserve to have the recliner. It was better suited for someone who would actually go back to a peaceful sleep on it.

With that decision, he crawled back over to the man, and started to push him out of the chair. He twitched again, and batted a hand. For all his efforts, he received an elbow to the stomach. However, he managed to make a little space for himself. It seemed they would just have to share, (even the simple thought was enough to make him scoff) the spot. He curled up his legs, and leaned against the side, as far as he could possibly be from the man.

The television was still on, providing the only source of light. The shape-shifter warily glanced at both entrances to the room, wanting to make sure that no one was there before he went back to sleep. There was something creepy about the house, a feeling of being watched. The floors always creaked, as if they were ancient instead of newly built. Some of the time, when all in the house was still, the sound of footsteps on the second floor could be heard, despite the fact that no one was there.

Perhaps it was ghosts, they really were jerks a lot of the time. Rationalizing it didn't make the house any less creepy. It could have to do with who it belonged to as well. Stanford's things were everywhere after all. The fake Stanford had rearranged much of it, but he hadn't gotten rid of things completely. The man's scent still permeated the air. That just so happened to be a bizarre mixture of rubbing alcohol and nerdy looser who befriended triangles. It was awful, and he had to remind himself constantly that he wasn't actually in the house.

Speaking of which, he really did need to start working on that long-term solution to prevent any evil shapes from interfering with his (and thus Not-Stanford's by extension) life. Now was as good a time as any, seeing as the man had moved on to incredibly obnoxious snoring. He pinched the man's nose. Within ten seconds, he had practically jumped awake.

"W-what-?" The man's question was cut off with a yawn.

"We're going for a walk." He announced.

For all his trouble, he was shoved off the chair.

"It's early o'clock in the morning kid, lemme' sleep."

"Suit yourself." He replied, brushing the dust off his clothes. "I'll just have to take that journal myself. And go on a potentially dangerous job, with the journal, all by myself. Which means there is a chance said book may not be returned to you, and you'll never be able to-"

Not-Stanford snapped awake, as if he had been doused with cold water. He smirked at this, knowing he had gotten the man's attention with this threat.

"Alright, alright, I'll go with you on your stupid magical quest or whatever."

"Excellent. Dress appropriately and pack several weapons for yourself."

"Dress appropriately? How do I dress appropriately for-"

"It's early spring, and early in the morning. So perhaps you shouldn't be wearing... That."

He pointed to the man's dress shirt and pants.

"Yeah, yeah, everyone's a critic."

Not-Stanford rolled his eyes and stood up. He stretched, and then limped off. He went on his way too, looking for something to eat. Their journey wouldn't take too long, hopefully, but he was not going to wait until he was absolutely starved to find out. There was still a package of pepperoni that the man had stolen yesterday. The shape-shifter took that for himself, and found some bread for Not-Stanford. He had noticed the man ate it for every morning meal, along with a cup of coffee. While he personally couldn't stand the stuff (it reminded him too much of the real Stanford) he knew that the man would want to stall things by making himself a cup.

He decided to take initiative and do it for him. He filled the kettle with water and set it on the stovetop. There was some instant coffee in the cupboard. He added that to a travel mug. By the time the water had boiled, Not-Stanford was dressed properly, and ready to leave. He handed him the mug, and turned to leave.

"Where's your jacket?"

"I don't need a jacket."

"Hey, I bought you that jacket, and you're going to wear it whether you need to or not."

"First of all, you just stole it last night. Second of all, make me, Old Man!"

Instantly, he regretted saying so. The shape-shifter was wrapped up in the coat before he could even think to doge out of the way. He thought about tearing off the dumb thing, but decided to let the man have his stupid little victory. They left the house through one of the back entrances. He led the man across the lawn, and towards the forest. He seemed slightly hesitant to follow at first, but knew that he had to keep his sight on the journal at all times.

The sun was only beginning to rise as they left. There was a tiny line of golden-yellow light on the horizon, but the sun was hidden by mountains. The sky was a light grey, with small patches of the night sky visible in between some of the clouds. The grass, which was mostly brown, had blades of green pushed between it. The buds on the trees were starting to crack open, revealing the new leaves inside. Every day, the flock of birds that lived in the forest seemed to grow larger and larger. They chirped and cackled, hopping from branch to branch and swooping dangerously close to their heads.

There was a small game trail that had been worn into the ground by the forest's inhabitants. He had been using it as well, knowing it would lead them to the lighter, gnome-infested parts of the woods. Here, everything was already a disgustingly bright green. Not even the winter could kill the spotted mushrooms or the ferns growing underneath the trees. Even rocks had a strange, glittering quality to them, and they little gems sticking out of the sides. They did not come across many others, since it was early in the morning.

They reached the destination specified in the journal. Not-Stanford was still looking rather tired, even with his coffee. He squinted at everything they had encountered so far, and he continued to yawn.

"Would you stop doing that?" He snarled, as the man yawned again.

"I can't help it if I've been woken up early in the morning because you wanted to go for a walk."

"It's not just a walk, I'm trying to protect your house from evil! So you really shouldn't be yawning."

"Why do you even want to protect my house?"

He didn't quite know the answer himself. And even if he had actually known how to respond to the man's question, he was not going to tell the truth about it either. It wasn't like it was any of his business, he could live without knowing why exactly there was a shield around his house. The man was still waiting for an answer though, he needed to come up with some sort of excuse for why he wanted to protect the place.

"Well, because... You have the journal."

"The same journal you've already read through completely?"

He had completely forgotten that part. Even he didn't know why he bothered to put up with the man after he had finished looking through the journal. He just, kept found himself coming back to the place, whether he was welcome or not. Well, he was never welcome, but he was always fine with sticking around, and antagonizing the man simply because he could. He didn't need a good reason to come back! He did what he wanted whenever he wanted, and nothing the fake Stanford did could stop him!

"Yes, but... It's a good re-read!"

"I'm sure it is. Now can we get over with this already?"

"Of course."

He opened the book, and read the instructions. It was a good thing the man had actually provided an illustration for the "druid of old." He didn't know who else would have a voice deep enough to recite the chant. Perhaps a manotaur, but that seemed like a bit of a long shot. He copied the picture, and grimaced. He hated facial hair, it was just so itchy and annoying.

Scratching his face in one hand and holding the book in the other, he started to recite the chant. The ground started to rumble, much like it had when the bunker was opened. They both stepped back as a large stone wall rose from the forest floor. There was an entrance positioned off to the side, and he strode over there.

"If anyone asks, I am your pure of heart son." He informed Not-Stanford.

"I don't need a reminder."

"The pure of heart thing is new." He retorted. "You have to be if I want to get that unicorn hair."

"Blah, blah, you're pure of heart, I get it."

They entered the enclosure. He had to squint in the bright light of the area. There was a crystal-clear waterfall and pond running to one side, and the grass here was an intense, practically unreal lime-green. Wildflowers bloomed everywhere, somehow matching the colours of the rainbow exactly.

Overhead, the forest sky was perfectly blue, and filled with puff white clouds. The smell of freshly cut grass, and the fragrance of the flowers washed over them. It was sickeningly sweet, he struggled to keep down his breakfast. The man looked just as disgusted as him at the sight of something so hideously vivid and cheerful.

"Ugh, this is-"

"I know."

"Hello, is someone there?" A prissy voice called.

The most lurid creature he had ever encountered trotted up to them. The mere sight of the unicorn made his stomach lurch again. His hairs stood on end as he was forced to look at the disgustingly bright animal. Its rainbow-coloured mane and perfectly groomed white hair sparkled in the false sunlight of the area. He wanted to tear the thing to shreds it was so awful.

A splash of blood and guts would be an improvement with the state of the place looking like it did right now. But, he couldn't do that. They had to get the hair from the creature. So, he put on his best "adorable human child" expression, and made sure to throw unnecessary Ws into his speech. Everyone loved that for some reason whether it was a "cute" person talking, or others talking to said cute person.

"We need shome of your haiw, pwease!"

"He's pure of heart." The man boredly added.

"What? You think you can just intrude in here and ask me for my hair?"

"Yup. I wanna' get this over with."

"Ugh! You men are always like this!" The unicorn tossed its hair. "Why I had a guy who looked exactly like you show up not a few months ago, begging for some of my hair. He didn't get it you know."

The mention of his lost brother caught Not-Stanford's attention. He was picked up underneath his arm pits, and held in front of the unicorn.

"Look, is he pure of heart or not? Just give us some of the hair and we'll go."

The unicorn turned its head away from them.

"I refuse to check!"

He was set back on the ground. All of a sudden, the unicorn was caught in a choke hold. The unicorn neighed in surprise and outrage. It kicked its legs wildly, trying to make the man let go of its neck. Somehow, he was able to keep a firm grip on the animal, even as it bucked and snapped its pearly-white teeth at them.

"Look buddy, I've got tourists showing up in an hour, I don't have time to spare."

"Why how dare you attack a-"

Keeping the unicorn trapped with one arm, he punched it in the jaw with the other. It gave another whiny of shock, and rainbow-coloured blood started to drip from its mouth.

"Kid... Get the knife from my pocket." He grunted.

Unzipping his coat pocket, he felt around for something. First he came up with a pair of brass knuckles. There were other things that he didn't recognize inside as well. He found the switchblade, and took it out.

"Cut off some-"

The man didn't need to finish the sentence, he had already grabbed a fistful of hair and slashed the blade through it. He tucked the locks into his pocket, and zipped it up again. The unicorn saw this out of the corner of its eyes and grew more furious. It attempted to gore the man with its horn, but he squeezed the hold around its neck even tighter. It was starting to choke, running low on air. He helped the man by pushing over the unicorn. It fell to the ground, dazed and gasping for breath.

He was scooped up again, and the man started to run while carrying him tucked underneath his arm. They barreled through the door, and almost instantly fell on the mud outside of the enclosure. Stanley slipped and slid the entire run with him back to the house.

They slammed the door, and bolted it all the way up to the top. Then, they slid against the side of the door. For a minute, they did not say anything. They were both panting, and looking at each other with excited smiles. He could not keep the goofy grin off his face, no matter how hard he tried. Stanley ruffled his hair, pushing it in front of his eyes. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to mind, and didn't bother to fix it.

"Good job kid. That wasn't as horrible as I was expecting."

"You're surprisingly strong, for an old man."

"And you're pretty strong for someone who's a baby in human years."

"You might want to avoid the light parts of the forest for a while."

"What do we need to grab more stuff for your magic voodoo shield?"

"Do you have a thermometer laying around?"

"There's one in kitchen drawer. What for?"

"Mercury inside, last thing I needed."

"Why couldn't you just shape-shift into what you needed?"

The shape-shifter turned into the unicorn from before. He took some of his mane in his mouth and tore it out. Then, he shifted back into the little Stanley Pines. He was left with a mouthful of his own, brown hair. The shape-shifter spat it out, and rubbed his tongue in disgust, but his point had been made.

"Huh, well that sucks."

"Oh I'm sure I'll survive somehow." He replied. "Now, don't you have some tourists to be preparing for?"

Stanley swore, giving him all the answer that he needed.

"Distract them for me if they come will ya' kid? I still need to get dressed."

"Of course, Father."

"And remember that your name is Stanley Pines, my son who visits only on the, oh wait it's not the weekend. I won the custody battle then, and if they ask, you're being home-schooled."

He didn't know what the latter things meant, but he decided it was just best to nod along with what Stanley was saying.

"And you're Stanford." He said. "As if they weren't already confused enough."

"The more confusion the better. That way if you slip up, we can play it off."

"Shouldn't you be getting changed?"

"Of course I am you little knucklehead. You're just distracting me."

"Then go already."

"I was just about to- Oh, wait, you've got some blood on your face."

The man licked his thumb and rubbed it off his cheek. The shape-shifter cringed in disgust. Why would someone do that to another person? For a moment, Stanley froze, and he knew the man was wondering what he had just done and why. He recovered in a split second, rising to his feet and clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Whelp, I'm off to get changed. Distract the tourists, Junior."

"You already told me to do so Old Man."

His hair was put out of place again, even more than it had been the first time. Quietly growling, he batted away the offending hand, and worked on fixing his hair back to the way he liked it. As he did so, the old man had the audacity to laugh at him, actually laugh. When he bared his teeth, another snort was all the response he got as Stanley left the room. What a jerk. How had he ever thought that the man was...?

"What?"

The words were said aloud, even if that hadn't been his intention. He hadn't thought the man was anything! Stanley Pines was a good for nothing copy of his nerdy twin brother. A second-rate copy! He was loud and obnoxious and pushed him around whenever he felt like it! There was nothing that he liked about the man! Absolutely nothing!

Yet, for some reason, a tiny voice, one that he had never heard before, somewhere deep within the back of his mind, was telling him something else. He didn't like the mixed messages! He knew what had happened the last time he had liked one of the members of the Pines family, and it wound up with his imprisonment.

So why was he having so much trouble disliking Stanley Pines?


End file.
